What We May Be
by Queerasil
Summary: AU: John didn't meet Sherlock. John met Jim. (Dark!John, brainwashing, one-shot.)


What We May Be

"We know what we are, but know not what we may be." – Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

_'__You'll like the Fox,' Mike said. 'You'll have a great time at the Fox,' Mike said. Now I'm bloody stuck in a sea of gay men, getting rutted against! _John attempted to navigate through the crowd, only succeeding in getting himself stuck between two very eager young men. John excused himself, shuffling past them, and out towards the bar.

_Bloody Mike, _he thought, before ordering a drink. John didn't know Mike was into this kind of stuff, but then again, John didn't know _anyone_ was into this kind of stuff.

"First time here," a ridiculously high voice asked. John looked over his shoulder to see (no surprise) a man standing there.

"Yeah, actually." John took an absentminded sip of his beer, unable to take his eyes off the strange new man. Just a bit taller and thinner than John, the man had messy black hair and tired clubber's eyes. John knew at once he was trying to hit on him. "Look, I'm not interested."

"Oh? You haven't even heard my offer yet." The man moved closer to John and looked him up and down slowly. Just felt like an animal being picked out for the slaughter.

"Yeah, really, I'm fine." John turned around and attempted to pay for his drink, but the other man grabbed his hand.

"Ah, ah. I've got it." The man paid for John's drink, which John supposed was kind enough. Maybe this new stranger wasn't so bad at all?

What John didn't see was the stranger's hand pass over his drink, and the little white pill drop from his fingertips into the liquid. Not knowing that, John took another drink. "Name's John, by the way."

The other man laughed, leaning against the bar with a devilish grin. "Jim Moriarty."

John slipped into consciousness slowly. Lucidity followed shortly after, and his head pounded as an affect-effect of the drug.

"Wakey wakey!" Jim's voice squealed, and John's eyes shot open. "Ah! Good! I thought you'd never wake up! Wooh!" Jim made a big show of wiping his hand across his forehead dramatically, as if he actually cared about John's wellbeing at all. "I've got a present for you."

John watched helplessly as Jim produced a gun from his pocket. Mouth gagged, hands tied, barely able to stay awake – John could do nothing.

"Now, John, good little soldier. What do you think I'm going to do with this?"

John stared at the gun, his eyes betraying not a hint of the fear he felt inside.

"No opinion? Shame." Jim pressed the nozzle of the gun against John's temple, digging it in. "Still no ideas?"

John shook his head, scared to admit the one idea had.

"Playing it safe, then?" Jim clicked the safety off. "I'm not." Jim frowned. "Maybe you should stop as well."

John gazed at Jim with a sidelong stare. Still, he kept his face relaxed and devoid of all emotion.

"Oh, you're a clever one." Jim pulled the gun away, and John sighed. "I really need a clever one… Let's get started then, shall we?"

John had the feeling he didn't have a choice.

John held the rifle tightly in his hands. Before him, the small screened typed out instructions.

**EXECUTE HER. – m**

In a split-second, John's finger pressed down on the trigger, and the bullet left his gun; traveling directly into General Shan's forehead.

John sat in the chair, perfectly still as he awaited instructions.

**FOLLOW HIM. – m**

John, as all good little soldiers did, obliged.

John followed the man all over town until he learned his name.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man grinned. "And next time you stalk me, try to do it a little quieter."

Sherlock turned and walked away without another word. John wasn't quite sure what to do.

The next time John saw Sherlock Holmes, it was at the pool when John had his rifle's red dot trained on the detective's chest.

"I'm so changeable!" Jim cried, and the detective paled. The bomb strapped to the detective's chest was ready to go on Jim's command, and John kept his finger waiting eagerly on the trigger. Jim started to walk away from the detective again; back towards the door with a gleeful stride. "John?" Jim clicked his communicator and smiled. "Execute."

John obliged, and the pool erupted into ash and fire, taking the detective with it.

...

**Notes: One shot. Couldn't get this crazy concept out of my head; had to do something! Hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
